John and Mary Have a Tiff
by englishtutor
Summary: In which the newlyweds have a difference of opinion. They are, after all, only human.
1. Chapter 1

This story takes place between the fourth and fifth chapters of "John and Mary Go Out to Dinner"—just before Mary is kidnapped by the computer criminal's sons. It's an untenable idea that newlyweds should manage never to have a difference of opinion! So here's John and Mary's first fight.

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John pushed back his plate and sighed contentedly. It was nice to eat dinner in his own flat with his wife, for a change. The case he and Sherlock were working on was going nowhere. Sherlock had taken off to canvass his homeless network, leaving John with nothing whatever to do but go home early. It was pleasant to fix a meal with Mary in their little kitchen, chatting about their day and giggling together over Mary's amusing patients and what outrageous things Sherlock had said today. They had been married for almost seven months now, had been together over a year, and life just kept getting better and better.

They quickly cleaned up the kitchen, and then Mary curled up on the sofa while John made tea. He handed her a cup and settled into his favorite armchair and sighed in perfect contentment. And then Mary said it.

"It's Harry's birthday next week, isn't it?" she asked innocently.

John frowned. "Yeah. I'll send her a card," he said shortly. Mention of his sister put him instantly on edge. She had always been difficult, but her treatment of Mary was just unconscionable.

"I was thinking we might go visit?" Mary suggested carefully. "It might be a good excuse for me to finally meet her in person." Harry had refused to come to their wedding and had consistently fended off any overtures on Mary's part, successfully avoiding any encounters with her brother's wife. On the phone, she had varied her approach to Mary from cold indifference to shrieking accusations. John had washed his hands of her. Mary, it seemed, had not.

"No. Absolutely not," John said firmly. "I won't put up with her abuse of you one second longer. Until she is ready to treat you with respect, I'll have nothing to do with her."

Mary cleared her throat. "Don't I have any say it? I thought we made decisions like this together," she said evenly. That little muscle in her cheek was twitching, a sure sign that she was annoyed. John deliberately chose to ignore it.

"We do; of course we do," John assured her, a bit too casually. "But I know Harry; you don't. You don't know what she's really like, and I know best how to handle her. Just trust me. It's best this way." He sipped his tea, signaling that this conversation was over.

But Mary was nothing if not tenacious. "She's your sister. All the family you have left. That's important, John. She's important. We need to deal with this breach between you like adults."

John clenched his teeth, forcing himself to speak gently. "When Harriet is ready to act like an adult, we'll deal with her like an adult," he said, far too calmly. "Meanwhile, I'll not have you in the same room with that harpy."

Mary sighed. "She called me today. She's so very unhappy, Captain."

"She had no business calling you!" John was angry now. "What did she say to you?"

"She's just so unhappy, John. She doesn't like me because she thinks I'm keeping you away from her. And that's sort of true, isn't it?"

John was exasperated. "No, it isn't true at all," he insisted earnestly. "Harry is keeping me away with her own rotten attitude. You are the most important person in my life. When she's ready to accept that, I'll be happy to make things up with her. But as long as she persists in this delusion that your presence in my life is optional, I'll have nothing to do with her." He picked up the newspaper and tried to read the headlines. Mary picked up a book and leafed through the pages listlessly.

Silence prevailed as they each pretended to be engrossed in their reading. Finally Mary spoke up. "Perhaps you could just go by yourself, then. Just to say 'happy birthday'. It would mean a lot to her, I think."

John kept his newspaper in front of his face, refusing to look at her. "I won't go anywhere you're not welcome. You're my wife. She's just going to have to deal with that," he said quietly but intractably.

"I realize you're just trying to protect me, but, Captain. . . ." Mary pleaded gently.

"No." He was using his army officer's voice now. "Absolutely not. That's my final word."

"But, John. . . ."

He dropped his newspaper and stood up. "I'm going out for a bit of air," he said tightly. "I'll be back in a few minutes." And he walked out of the flat.

"Um. Okay," Mary said.


	2. Chapter 2

He walked in the front door and stopped at the bottom of the stairs in sudden confusion. If he didn't know better, he'd swear John was in the flat. But that made no sense; John had gone home hours ago. He had meant to have a pleasant dinner with his wife and spend an evening in. Sherlock bounded up the steps, determined to find the answer to this new mystery.

Sure enough, there was John, slumped in his accustomed armchair looking utterly disconsolate.

"You've had a row with Mary, haven't you," Sherlock announced rather than asked.

John sighed. "A bit. Well, not really. It was rather more of a tiff. I mean, Mary never loses her patience, does she? I'm the one with the infernal temper."

"How bad was it?" Sherlock said, as sympathetically as he could manage.

"Well, you know that little muscle in her cheek. . . ."

"Ah." Sherlock was very familiar with Mary's tell-tale twitch. "That's a bit not good. Tell me, did she lift her right index finger at you as well?"

John looked puzzled. "What?"

Sherlock demonstrated with his own right index finger; although it admittedly lacked Mary's finesse. "Did she make this gesture at you?" John shook his head, looking mystified. Sherlock was a bit disappointed. He had been on the receiving end of Mary's disapproving finger wave several times, but now he realized that he'd never seen her lift her finger against John or anyone else in that manner. Apparently Sherlock was the only person who ever upset her enough to require such dire treatment.

"Well, that's not so bad, then," he assured his friend.

"You don't know the worst of it, Sherlock. She called me 'John'. Three times," John confessed.

Sherlock was properly alarmed. While Mary might for the sake of clarity refer to John by his given name when speaking of him to others, she only called him 'John' to his face when she was angry, frightened, or extremely sad. This was, indeed, shocking news. "What in heaven's name did you say to her, John?" he demanded. "You didn't raise your voice to her, I trust?"

"Of course not," John insisted. "But I was out of line, all the same."

"Good," Sherlock pronounced sternly. "Because shouting at Mary would be analogous to bludgeoning a kitten with a sledgehammer, and I would strongly disapprove of it."

John just looked at the self-proclaimed sociopath with astonishment at such sentiment, speechless.

"Hmm. You held up your newspaper so that she couldn't see you, didn't you?" Sherlock deduced. John hung his head in shame. "And you wouldn't listen to reason, I imagine. You might have said something like 'absolutely not' or 'that's my final word'. And then you walked out to get some air."

"I'm an absolute monster!" his poor friend cried miserably. "I'm insensitive, thoughtless, and a complete idiot. She was being entirely reasonable and logical, and I'm an utter fool."

"I'm sure you're right," Sherlock said supportively. "And so you came straight here for my help?"

John snorted in disgust. "Don't be ridiculous. No, I just walked round the block a few times to cool off, and then went back home. But when I got back, Mary was gone. And she'd left her phone behind."

"Ah," Sherlock nodded sagely. "And you assumed she'd come to me for help."

John stared at the brilliant detective with astonishment. "Don't be an idiot. I thought she might have come to talk with Mrs. Hudson. But Mrs. Hudson isn't home, so I came up here to wait." Sherlock briefly considered feeling hurt by this, but realized that John's objection was justified.

"What was the argument about?" he inquired.

"Harry. It's her birthday next week, and Mary thought we should take that as an opportunity to go visit her and try to mend bridges."

Just as quickly as that, Sherlock's sympathies passed from Mary's to John's point of view. "That's utterly insane," he declared staunchly.

"No, no, she was right, of course," John insisted. "Harry's family and that's important. Mary was only trying to encourage me to do the right thing. I just didn't want to hear it."

"Nonsense!" Sherlock cried, so completely and so suddenly changing sides that he nearly gave himself mental whiplash. "The only useful purpose in Harriet Watson's continued existence is that she forces me to be grateful for Mycroft, in spite of myself."

John gave a snort of rueful laughter. "Ordinarily I would agree. But Mary has a point. I'm all the family Harry has now. She needs me. I have to keep trying to reach out to her. My main objection has been her ill-treatment of Mary, but if Mary is willing to put up with it, I should let her." He sighed. "She's much more courageous and caring then I am," he admitted. "I really don't deserve someone so perfect."

"John Hamish Watson!" Mrs. Hudson's voice carried up the stairwell followed by the slamming of the front door. "What on earth have you done to our sweet Mary?" She marched up the steps and entered their flat like Nemesis.

"I know, Mrs. Hudson," John covered his shame-filled face. "I'm a terrible person."

Mrs. Hudson patted his shoulder comfortingly, unable to keep up her disapproval of him in the face of his discomfiture. "It wasn't the disagreement, you know, dear," she said gently. "It was that you walked out on her. That was not the thing to do."

John nodded miserably. "I know," he repeated. "I just did what I always do when I lose my temper. I hate being angry, so I leave. I didn't even think how that would affect Mary. I didn't even think at all." He turned candid eyes up to his elderly friend. "I'm a monster who bludgeons kittens with sledgehammers."

If Mrs. Hudson was taken aback by this sentiment, she didn't show it. She was in comfort-giving mode now. "My dear, every couple has these little quarrels. It's perfectly normal. You go and say you're sorry, and it will all blow over. You'll see."

"Do you know where Mary is?" he asked hopefully.

"She's at Molly's. She called me on Molly's phone, looking for you. She's more concerned about you than she is about whatever you were quarrelling about."

John rose to his feet, ready for action. He was a soldier, after all, capable and willing to face anything to accomplish his mission. And his present mission? To humbly apologize to his angelic bride.


	3. Chapter 3

Who on earth could be at the door this late in the evening? Molly wondered as she approached her front door cautiously. She peered through the peephole. Mary Watson? She hastened to unlock the door and let her friend in.

"Mary, are you all right?" Molly asked in concern. Mary looked pale and her eyes were reddened and puffy. She pulled off her coat and dropped it in a careless heap on the floor.

"John and I had an awful row," Mary confessed, distressed. "We never quarrel, Molly. Never, ever. And it was all my fault."

Molly was puzzled. "But you've been married, what, seven months? And this is your first fight? I think that's amazing, Mary. I'd have to say it's about time you had a disagreement. It's not human, otherwise."

Mary plopped down on Molly's sofa and sighed. "I can't even call it a proper quarrel, really. I was the only one arguing. John just stayed completely calm and listened to me rant at him. A few times, he tried to end the disagreement, but I just kept at him. I was . . . I was a horrible NAG, Molly!" Mary looked mortified at herself.

Molly tried to picture John Watson as a nagged-at, hen-pecked husband and utterly failed. He was altogether too self-assured for such a thing.

"I always promised myself I'd never be a nagging wife," Mary continued. "And there I was, just pushing and pushing at him, until finally he just . . . got up and left."

Molly gasped. "Oh, he ought not to have done that." She sat gently beside her friend and put her arms around her comfortingly. "No matter what an awful nag you were, he should have been man enough to stay and listen to it."

Mary smiled ruefully. "No, I drove him away. I was relentless. He was being perfectly reasonable and logical, and I was completely out of line. And then I was so ashamed of myself, I left home before he could come back."

"You didn't shout at him, did you?" Molly asked, a bit aghast at the thought.

Mary shook her head. "No, I didn't stoop that low. At least I have that much dignity left. But . . . oh, Molly! I called him 'John'. Three times!"

"Oh," Molly's hands flew up to her mouth in shock. "Oh, Mary, that was bit . . . extreme, wasn't it?"

"I'm an absolute harridan! How could I be so mean to him? He didn't deserve it. He was just being protective of me," Mary cried in dismay.

"What . . . what was the quarrel about, dear?" Molly was almost afraid to ask.

"Harry. You know, his sister. Her birthday is next week, and I thought we might go for a visit. They've never gotten along, but lately they aren't even speaking to each other. I wanted to help fix things." Mary sighed again. "But I've never even met her. What do I know?"

Molly patted Mary's shoulder comfortingly. "It sounds as if you had John's best interests at heart. I'm sure he understands that."

"He knows his sister and how best to deal with her. I ought to have listened to him. After all, he's known her all his life, and I don't know her at all. I trust his judgement in all other areas; why wouldn't I trust his judgement about his own sister? I was just being . . . a pushy nag! And all the time he was just being loyal to me. The reason they don't speak anymore is because she disapproves of me. Strongly. And he won't put up with her speaking ill of me. 'You are the most important person in my life,' he said. 'Until she's ready to treat you with respect, I'll have nothing to do with her.'"

"Oh," Molly gasped again, impressed. "Oh, Mary, that's lovely. You have to apologize as quickly as you can!"

"I know," Mary said miserably. "But I left my phone at home. And he isn't answering his phone. And I don't know where he is. And I don't know how to face him."

Molly smiled bravely. "I'll bet anything in the world he went to Baker Street when he found you weren't at home. You can call Sherlock on my mobile."

Mary bit her lip and looked pensive for a moment. "No. I can't talk to Sherlock. He's very protective of John. He won't want to give me a chance to nag at him again."

"Then call Mrs. Hudson. No, here, I'll do it." Molly scrolled to Mrs. Hudson's number and pushed send. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson. This is Molly. Molly Hooper. Is John with you, by any chance?" She listened a moment, then turned to Mary. "Mrs. Hudson isn't home, but she's on her way there."

"Tell her I'm trying to find him. Tell her why," Mary prompted.

"Mrs. Hudson, Mary's trying to find John and she was hoping he'd gone to Baker Street. Could you check when you arrive? They've had a bit of a tiff, and he walked out. Yes, I know he ought not to have done that, but you know how he is. He's always going out for a breath of air when he and Sherlock have words. Mary's quite worried about him. . . . Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Just tell him she's with me, all right? Thank you, dear." Molly hugged Mary comfortingly. "There, Mrs. Hudson will take care of things."

Sure enough, in less time than either girl could have thought possible, there was a knock at the door. Molly looked through the peephole. "It's him," she whispered to Mary. "He looks very upset."

Mary pressed her lips together anxiously. "Let him in. I might as well face up to things," she said bravely.

Molly opened the door and let John in without a word. He stepped into the sitting room and looked uncertainly at his wife. Mary rose from the sofa and looked uncertainly back.

"I am so sorry," they both burst out at once. "No, I'm the one to be sorry," they said together. It couldn't have been better coördinated if they had rehearsed it. When they both opened their mouths to speak simultaneously a third time, they snorted with laughter and dissolved into giggles. Mary flung herself into his outstretched arms. Molly chuckled in delight, unabashedly watching a perfect make-up kiss.

"I'm sorry I walked out. That was thoughtless and cruel of me," John said gently into her hair.

"I'm sorry I nagged at you. I should have left you alone once you said no," Mary replied.

"But you were absolutely right, you know," John told Mary apologetically. "We'll go and see Harry for her birthday. I shouldn't have given up on her like that."

"No, no. You were right. You know her better than I do. If you think my being there will set her off instead of helping, I should stay out of it."

"Well, we'll talk about it tomorrow, when we're feeling less upset. Let's go home, shall we?"

"Captain, why didn't you answer your phone?" Mary asked as he helped her on with her coat.

"My phone?" He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at it sheepishly. "Um. The battery's dead."

Mary snickered and kissed him again.

They left without even saying good-bye to Molly, who sat down on her sofa and laughed and laughed.


End file.
